


Gift

by arby



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Time, Humor, Incest, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-02 16:08:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arby/pseuds/arby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Was this how Dean looked to girls? No wonder they practically threw their panties at him. Hell, if Sam had any, <i>he</i>'d be throwing them right about now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gift

Even before they met Missouri, Sam had been wondering if he really was psychic. How else could he explain the dreams? He had them more often than he wanted to admit, even to himself, and sometimes when someone was looking at him and thinking something very strongly in their head, he could hear it. It wasn’t even hear so much as _know_ it, and sometimes it wasn’t even conscious – something would pop into his head randomly and he would say it, and the person he was with would gasp and say, “I was literally just about to say that.” And when certain people were feeling especially strong emotions, every so often he felt them as if they were his own. The closer he was to the person, the stronger the connection – for the most part. There were some friends he could never read. But the really important relationships in his life? Jess used to accuse him of mind-reading all the time, leave it at that. Of course, with Dean it was the strongest, had always been there, and was by now mostly unconscious and almost second nature. But since the night Sam left for Stanford, he’d shut himself off from his family in every way he could, including sealing up the cracks that let their opinions and moods through. He’d felt Dean’s presence now and then, when he was walking to class or about to fall asleep, watchful and protective, and when Dean told him Dad had come to see him at Stanford he knew it was a lie. Dean had been the only one who’d come.

If Sam was psychic, he didn’t want to be. Never mind that it would be extremely useful in their line of work. He refused to admit that it was his job, anyway, let alone a life path. The things he saw and felt disturbed him – in the dreams they usually, but not always, manifested as nightmares, and the visions he had while wide awake were even worse.

The night after they left Lawrence again, Sam had been in the shower, luxuriating in the hot water, when suddenly he felt oddly horny. Not that feeling horny was weird in and of itself, but usually there was some sort of rhyme and reason to it, like he’d had a hot dream or seen something under a girl’s unintentionally transparent outfit, or just hadn’t had any sexual activity in a while and things had…built up. But this was like a wave of arousal hitting him out of nowhere. If he hadn’t been almost done in the shower, he would have taken the opportunity to rub one out, but he’d already been in there for at least twenty minutes and he was going to turn into a prune with an erection if he didn’t get out fairly soon. So he got out and was standing on the soaking wet bathmat toweling off (he had a tendency to somehow get water everywhere when taking a shower), when Dean knocked on the door.

“Yo, what is it? I’m almost out.”

“Jesus, man – you’ve been in there forever. What are you doing, turning into a girl or something?”

There was a strained quality to Dean’s teasing – Sam figured he really had to take a dump or something. He wasn’t really dry but it would do. He draped the towel he’d been using over the shower rod, grabbed a fresh one and wrapped it around his waist, then opened the door.

“Okay, okay, you can have the bathroom. Sorry to inconvenience you.” Sam rolled his eyes.

Dean just stood in front of the bathroom door for a minute, as if reluctant to move. His gaze traveled down Sam’s torso to what his first girfriend had called his “happy trail” (“and yours is happier than most”), as if it were magnetized and his eyes metal filings. He was staring at Sam with a strangely intent look on his face, and Sam heard in his head as clearly as if Dean had spoken it, _ Damn, he looks good; I could just eat him up_. And then the guilty afterthought, _What is wrong with me? I shouldn’t be thinking things like this about Sammy!_ A strong undercurrent of lust accompanied these thoughts, and Sam’s eyes widened as he realized the source of his earlier attack of libido. Almost as surprising (although it should have been obvious, in retrospect) was that he hadn’t put two and two together before then – random horniness + presence of person with psychic link (as much as he tried to deny it and turn it off) = Dean’s probably the one with the hard-on.

Completely taken aback, Sam gulped and tried to pretend nothing had happened. He went over to the bed and flung himself down on it to hide the beginning of his own erection. Dean finally went into the bathroom and began running the shower. Sam doubted very much that there was any hot water left, but maybe a cold shower would help Dean get over his problem.

His body was relaxed and warm from his self-indulgent shower, and maybe because it wasn’t really bedtime yet, suddenly it seemed like it might be possible to take a nap. Just a little one. He started to get that languorous, tingling feeling in his arms and legs, like he used to get after he stayed up all night cramming for some test, and then finally snuck off for an hour’s nap in the middle of the day. It was a blissful, dreamy paralysis, a sweet buzzing in the blood like his veins were full of bees – almost like pins and needles, but less painfully powerful. His limbs were sandbags, keeping him from floating away on a dreamy cloud of bliss. The boundaries of his body were dissolving into the bed like a river melting into a delta. He could cease to exist entirely when consciousness slipped away, turn into a puddle of black goo like an alien on the X-Files, only to reform anew with the sunrise. He didn’t want to move, even to throw on some underwear and crawl under the covers, for fear of waking up again. He just loosened the towel a little so it wasn’t so binding, and then, miraculously, he slept.

He dreamed that he and Dean were in bed together. Like, not just sleeping side by side in the same bed as they had many times when they were young and often still did out of necessity, but _sleeping_ together. In the dream it wasn’t as weird as he would have thought, in fact, it seemed almost natural. They lay on their sides facing each other, very close, arms and legs intertwined, and Dean was kissing him, slowly and with that abstracted focus usually reserved for his science fair homemade ghostbuster projects. His mouth tasted staggeringly delicious, and those lips were obscenely talented. The tingling sensation increased as Dean touched him – everywhere Dean’s hand went, a trail of sparkling, golden honey-warmth followed, so that the pleasure fed back on itself and grew ever-greater. His skin became incredibly sensitive, and his nipples were so hard they almost hurt. His cock was hard, too, no surprise there, and as the sheet dragged over it he felt every fiber with exquisite agony. Dean fed off Sam’s mouth as if he were a hummingbird and it a sugar-water dispenser, sucking and sipping and nibbling, and Sam’s head spun like he was a swooning virgin who had never been kissed before, so amazingly new and fantastic did it feel. Dean’s roving hand found his rock-hard nipples, and brushed them so lightly Sam groaned aloud at the contact. His hips thrust forward of their own accord, but the teasing hand refused to touch his throbbing cock. Then the sheet was whisked away, and he felt a cool breeze trying to calm his fevered skin. A trailing, ticklish touch, so light it was barely more present than the air, traveled up the back of his thigh, over his ass, and up his back, to trace lazy circles there. A wave of goosebumps chased over his body after it.

“_Dean_,” he moaned helplessly, and as he heard it realized he was talking in his sleep, waking himself mid-utterance, and suddenly acutely conscious of his hardness pressed deep into the rough substance of the towel, and further realizing that the towel had fallen off his ass at some point during the night. He lay exposed to everything, including Dean, whose smoldering gaze he could almost feel on him right now, and he turned his head suddenly to see that Dean _was_ looking at him, and there was a dark, knowing fire in his eyes that made Sam feel utterly disconcerted. Dean smiled at him in the half-darkness, as if there was nothing to be afraid of.

“Nightmare?” said he, with an unexpected warmth, as if he already knew the answer was No, and he didn’t sound sleepy at all. He was lying sideways on top of the bed with his head propped on one arm, facing Sam. Sam actually flushed when he realized that Dean could have been watching him sleep that entire time.

_He could have been doing more than watching_, the unbidden thought came. It made him shiver despite himself. He tried to blame it on the fact that it was kind of cold and he was effectively naked.

“Um, no. Not exactly.”

Sam wanted desperately to get under the covers, but was pinned to the bed by his tent-pole-like boner. He started crawling forward, trying not to lift his crotch from the towel. The resulting friction hurt like hell. Finally he reached the top of the bed, turned back the coverlet to dive between the cool, soothing sheets. They felt so good that he let out a little whimper.

Dean chuckled. Then he sat up and took off his t-shirt, and hesitated a moment before climbing in the other side of the bed. It was only a double bed, so they weren’t that far apart. After getting under the covers Dean reached down, then threw something on the floor that Sam belatedly realized was his underwear. Turning back, he caught the tail end of Sam’s suspicious look.

“What? These sheets are really nice and soft and you know sometimes I like to sleep in the buff.”

“Nothing, perv. Just go to sleep, would ya?”

“Hey, I’m not the only one in this bed who’s not wearing any clothes. And I’ll sleep if you will,” Dean muttered under his breath. Sam could feel the heat coming off of his (_very naked_) body in waves. It was like lying next to a living furnace. He knew it should be weird that they were nude in the same bed, especially considering how Dean apparently had the hots for him. But maybe Sam was wrong about that – after all, nothing had actually happened. It wasn’t like Dean had made a move on him – at least not while he was awake – and dreams and psychic messages weren’t exactly the most reliable sources of information in the world.

Sam meant to fake it, to wait the two minutes it took Dean to go to sleep so he could take care of his urgent problem. But as Dean’s breathing lengthened and slowed, it lulled Sam despite himself, and even though he could still feel his dick like an aching iron rod through the layers of sheets and blankets, and in fact he thought he might be getting blue balls, he found his eyelids growing heavy and slipped gently and gradually into sleep as if he were wading into a slowly deepening pond.

For a while there were no dreams, and that was a blessing in itself – to be able to lose himself in nothingness was a rare thing these days. Then there were some random images, flickering, like half-glimpsed photographs in candlelight – Mom’s face in the old house when she said “I’m sorry,” solemn and sad and almost guilty, Dean’s face when he unstrangled Sam from the light cord, desperate and urgent with fear and love, Jess’s ghost by the side of the road in Toledo, stately and almost peaceful. The last one scared him, not wanting it to turn into another nightmare, he tried to deliberately turn his mind away, turn over and hide from the truth that he couldn’t bear to face just yet. So he yanked himself out of that dream-part and into another – tangling limbs with a compact body pressed against his in the too-small bed, miles of smooth hot skin beneath his palms, the magnificent strength of muscles working purposefully to pleasure him, lips so soft and so hard at the same time, the juxtaposition was thrilling. Somewhere in the back of his mind he had an inkling that whatever was happening was wrong. But it was just a dream. He wasn’t responsible for the content of his dreams, wish fulfilment or no. So he wallowed in the unexpected joy of it, the delicious warmth and subtle texture of the slightly rough hands on his body, learning every inch of it and following every curve and plane like a blind man trying to map him. But his phantom partner was also strangely coy – every time Sam tried to lead the hands down to his cock, which was red and weeping with frustration, they somehow managed to slip away, until finally Sam, about to scream with unsatisfied need, opened his eyes despite his better instincts, to find Dean once again watching him.

Sam frowned. This was _so_ not a coincidence. Once again someone had been making him feel incredible in his sleep and when he woke up Dean was eyeing him like Sam was a three-course meal and Dean hadn’t eaten in a week. He squinted at Dean muzzily.

“What’s up?” Trying to sound cool but hearing his own voice come out querulous and childlike.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “With me? Nothin’. You looked like you were getting pretty worked up over there, though.”

_He’s totally lying_, Sam realized suddenly. He could feel Dean’s emotions, roiling with barely restrained desire.

“Liar. You were molesting me in my sleep.” (_Again_, he almost added.)

Dean’s eyes widened at this, and he almost blushed. The cocky smile slipped for a second and he looked away. “Was not!” came the automatic sibling response. Then he made a face and said, “Yeah, well, you liked it. A lot.”

Now it was Sam’s turn to squirm uncomfortably at the unexpected truth.

“C’mon, Dean – don’t you think it’s a little weird to be all over me like that? Last time I checked, we were still brothers.”

“Hell yeah it’s weird,” he replied with that disarming honesty of his. “I’m sure it’s all kinds of sick and wrong, and I’m probably going to Hell for it – if there even is such a place – but…I can’t help myself.” His voice cracked on “help” and Sam wanted to hug him, incestuous urges be damned. Dean just looked at him then, eyes dark and liquid with emotion, and Sam could feel the mingled love and need pulsing off of him in waves. His brother had very beautiful eyes, he thought absently, as if he hadn’t seen them before – practically every day of his life, in fact. It was an established fact that Dean was good-looking, of course, but he’d never really _seen_ it this way before. Dean’s mouth quivered a little as he maintained their gaze, and Sam’s own eyes drifted downward to notice how pretty Dean’s lips were – almost girlishly so, but with an underlying strength that belied their shapeliness. They weren’t fair, those lips. Dean was cheating somehow just by having them. As he watched, Dean’s pink tongue came out and licked them – Sam felt a weird sensation in his stomach when he saw that, and his poor neglected cock gave a little jump. Was this how Dean looked to girls? No wonder they practically threw their panties at him. Hell, if Sam had any, _he_’d be throwing them right about now.

“Dean,” he whispered, almost sighed, giving in, hypnotized by the vision of Dean’s unexpected beauty, and slowly Dean began to close the distance between them, still holding the eye contact, until he took Sam’s head in his hands and kissed him with intensely restrained longing, as if it was all he could do not to fall upon Sam like a madman crazed with lust. Sam let his mouth fall open to his brother’s tongue, and realized all over again what had been abundantly apparent in his dream – Dean was a fantastic kisser. His heart was pounding by the time Dean released him to say, “You’re not so bad yourself there, Sammy,” and gave him a shy little smile that was utterly adorable. This time Sam was the one who leaned over to kiss _him_, and didn’t even stop to wonder at how easily Dean had read his mind. Their tongues tangled again interminably and unbearably until Sam, panting and weak at the knees, broke away again.

“You know this is crazy, right? What would Dad think?”

“Since when do you care what Dad thinks?” Dean retorted without missing a beat.

Sam had to laugh at that. He still couldn’t believe it was happening. On one level it made perfect sense – in fact it almost seemed inevitable in retrospect. On every other level – certainly according to the moral standards of society (meaning Western culture, the Stanford boy in him felt compelled to clarify) it was utterly unthinkable. If one of them were female, you could make a case for historical precedent using the ancient Egyptian and old European dynasties’ frequently incestuous marriages (too frequent for their own good, as it turned out – look at Akhenaten), but what they were doing? _Really_ out there. Of course, on the other hand that was better in the sense that they wouldn’t be spawning any two-headed babies.

“Hello? Earth to Sammy,” Dean said, and suddenly his tongue was in Sam’s ear. His sweet, athletic tongue. Sam shivered and stopped thinking about the Egyptians. He closed his eyes as Dean stopped licking and just barely breathed once, in and out, sending a thrill of sensation down Sam’s spine straight to his cock.

“_Jesus_, Dean,” he whispered. Suddenly Sam decided he’d had enough. He grabbed Dean’s hand and put it in his lap, right _there_, to the throbbing rod, half-hard again, that had been teased all night. Thankfully Dean was quicker on the uptake than usual – he slipped his palm unerringly around Sam’s dick and gave it a single expert squeeze that almost made Sam come instantly. He had absolutely no doubt that if Dean had wanted him to, he would have. As it was he groaned uncontrollably and gripped Dean’s arm, feeling helpless as a kitten.

Dean looked at him wickedly. “Now you’re on board! That’s more like it.”

“Shut up.” If he was going to be bad, he might as well enjoy it. “You think you’re so cool? I dare you to suck it.”

He actually saw Dean’s pupils dilate at this. It was strangely gratifying. Dean raised an eyebrow, tried to maintain some semblance of control over the situation.

“Or what? What’re you going to do if I don’t, huh?”

“Maybe I’ll just go in the bathroom and finish myself off. And I won’t even let you watch.”

Here came the pout. It was ridiculous, how hot that mouth was, and how well Dean knew how to work it. He’d seen Dean pull this with so many girls, but now he was looking at it in a whole new light. Just the thought of that mouth on his cock was almost unbearably arousing.

“And then I’ll put on clothes before I come back to bed.”

Dean gave him a mock dirty look. “C’mon, now you’re just being mean.”

“Well, I don’t see you doing anything about it.” Sam gestured downwards impatiently.

“So you want me to suck your dick, huh?” Dean husked, swallowing visibly. Sam nodded, saying nothing, though his entire body was already thrumming with anticipation.

“Fine – I’ll show you.”

“Go ahead. Chicken.”

That did it – Dean flung off the covers and scooted down between Sam’s legs, then met his gaze as he lowered that mouth over his brother’s rock-hard prick. Sam’s eyes rolled back in his head as the hot sweetness descended – only Dean’s iron grip around the base of his cock prevented him from shooting right there. Just as suddenly as it had begun the pleasure stopped, almost immediately his eyes fluttered open in time to see Dean start licking him in long, slow laps like an ice-cream cone. Sam’s balls drew up tight with the targeted intensity of it, and he moaned long and low when Dean finally sucked the head into his mouth and began to jack him, slowly, just enough to take everything up a notch. Sam’s entire consciousness was focused on the incredible sensations.

“Jesus _fuck_ that feels amazing.”

Dean somehow managed to smirk around a mouthful of cock. Then he plunged down thrillingly fast and took it deep, sucked hard for a few seconds, and pulled up with agonizing slowness. He repeated this combination until Sam had to close his own ears to the constant noises he was making so as not to be completely embarrassed.

“God, Dean, I can’t, I need it,” breathlessly babbling.

Dean stopped. He sat up in the bed and gave Sam an innocent look.

”What’s the matter, having a little problem there?”

Wordless cries turned into “damn it, don’t fuck with me Dean.”

“You want to come, don’t’cha?”

“Nggh.”

“Well, okay then,” pretending to be aggrieved. “All you had to do was ask.”

He took his hand off Sam’s dick and held the palm in front of Sam’s face. “Lick it.”

“What?”

“C’mon, dumbass. It’s not like we have any lube.”

Sam stuck out his tongue, feeling at once stupid and incredibly turned on. Dean’s hand was salty, and tasting himself on Dean’s skin was beyond hot. When Dean judged it to be sufficiently moistened he wrapped his hand around Sam’s cock again and started jacking him. At the same time he leaned back slightly and used his other hand to beat himself off, alternating speeds, squeezing and pulling his own stiff prick, now and then pausing to spit in his own palm. As if this wasn’t hot enough, he fastened a smoldering, lust-filled gaze on Sam and started talking dirty.

“Goddamn that’s hot. Fuck, yeah, come for me Sammy.“

The next 10 seconds Sam saw in strobelight flashes – Dean’s face, lowered eyelashes trembling on his cheek, his half-open mouth with ripe lips pouting, the tension in his jaw as he stared at Sam, Dean’s nipples so hard on his taut chest, Dean’s arms flexing – and then suddenly Sam saw himself, his cheeks were flushed and his eyes were glazed and he was panting and moaning and with a final trembling cry Sam came on command, and seeing it pushed Dean over the edge, and they shot on each other’s stomachs, twitching cocks spurting hot sticky come mingling together, and as the spasms died down Dean leaned in and kissed Sam, thrusting his tongue deep into his brother’s mouth.

Finally Sam was completely limp, exhausted. Dean retrieved his underwear from the floor and used it to mop up, then lay down next to him. Sam could _feel_ him smiling.

“What.”

“Oh, nothin’.”

Silence.

“What?”

“I liked what you did there, at the end. That switching perspective thing was pretty cool – we should use that in a fight sometime.”

Sam was speechless for a minute.

“What?! You saw that? I thought it was just me.”

“Yeah, you were kinda hot – but I was hotter.”

“Shut up, egomaniac.”

“Hey, if you got it, flaunt it.”

“Oh yeah, you’re a regular porn star. Where’d you learn to suck cock like that, anyway? Is _that_ how you’ve been making money? Shit, I’d pay. Though thankfully I don’t have to.”

Silence, broken only by Dean’s soft snoring. Sam smiled to himself. Falling asleep without so much as a lame-ass comeback – that had to be a first for Dean. Maybe this psychic thing was all right after all. He knew this wasn’t what people meant when they said it was a gift, but he’d take it that way nonetheless, because it pleased him. He was still smiling when sleep came for him in turn without so much as a warning, for the third time in as many hours.


End file.
